Numb
by petrelli heiress
Summary: Those words. "I'm using you...and it's killing me." He stared at her, the shock blatant in his eyes. He'd make her feel it.


**Numb**

**Author's Note: I can't believe I wrote this. I really can't. I was supposed to be writing about Peter's mysterious disappearances in Volume 4 but instead this came about. Just so you know, Sylaire gives me the creeps. And yet, I knew that if I didn't write this I would probably become a Sylaire shipper through sheer insanity. **

**Warning: Attempted rape**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Heroes (or Buffy the Vampire Slayer, which is what inspired this, partly)**

**__________________________________________________________________________________**

She died one time too many.

One day she came back...changed.

Feeling no pain had become like second nature to her, but this was different.

She felt numb. Nothing affected her anymore. She had to fake every smile, every frown, every expression. All she wanted to do was go back, go back to that place.

She had hated him once, hated him still. Nothing could change that, not time, not space, not even this numbness.

And yet he was the only one who could fix her. She was broken and he was so very good at fixing things.

He was the only one who could make her feel _anything. _Self-hatred, disgust, sex-fuelled joy...at least they were _something. _

And then she met _her. _Monica. The woman who taught her it was okay if she didn't feel anything right now, taught her that maybe she'd get better with time. The woman who also taught her that what she was doing to him was wrong.

"I'm using you," Claire said quietly, standing near the door, her escape route. She looked as delectable as ever, Sylar thought.

He laughed. "Oh, if that's what you like to tell yourself." He was across the room in an instant, pushing her up against the wall, closing his eyes and breathing her scent in deep. "You're always saying things like that, Claire. When are you going to realise that you don't mean them? That you're just like me?"

She shuddered as she stepped under his arms and closer to the door. "I'm using you, Sylar." She took a deep breath. Remember what Monica said. "And it's killing me."

He stared at her. "You really mean that, don't you?" He looked so confused, like a lost little boy, she almost gave in. Almost.

She took a step towards the door then paused. She heard his breath catch. She turned back towards him and that hopeful look in his dark eyes made her resolve shake. A deep breath. Remember what Monica said. "Goodbye, Gabriel."

She left then, leaving him silent, still very much confused, wondering what the hell had just happened.

***

_A few weeks later..._

She was tired. If she'd been normal – she smiled wryly – she probably would have been a bit sore. She decided to take a shower, they always made her feel more relaxed. Her wry smile turned soft. It always amazed her that she was able to feel something as simple as relaxed.

Claire closed the door to the bathroom and was just turning the shower on when there was a knock at the door. She sighed. Obviously the shower would have to wait. She switched it off then opened the door.

Sylar stood there, looking...well...like he always did. Tempting. Far too tempting.

"Sylar," she said, rubbing her forehead. "What are you doing here?"

He was gazing at her balefully, his dark eyes raking over her slight frame. He moved into the room, closing the door behind him, and she stepped back automatically. "Claire..." He stopped, frowned. "Claire, come back to me."

She sighed. "Sylar, this...you and me...it could never work. You know that, deep down you know that."

Sylar shook his head stubbornly. "No, no, I don't. I saw the way you looked when you found out about what Peter and I did. I saw the hurt."

Claire's lip curled before she could stop it. "Oh yes. So that was just your way of making me jealous? I'm sure Peter feels just great about that." She winced at the horrible tone her voice had taken without her consent. Why did she care anyway?

She moved away from him. "The thing is, Sylar, that just confirmed what I've known all along. I can't trust you."

He smirked and leaned in closer. "Trust is for old marrieds, Claire. Great love is wild and passionate and dangerous. It burns and consumes." He brushed their lips together.

She pushed away, disgusted. "Until there's nothing left. I can't...Sylar...I can't, okay? Why won't you just accept that and move on?"

His dark eyes flashed and before she could even contemplate running he had her on the ground, his hands trying to get beneath her bathrobe, nails biting into her flesh. She winced, not because she felt anything, but at the memory of what it would have felt like.

She struggled underneath him, and he grabbed her wrists, pulling them up above her head. "I'm going to make you _feel _it," he whispered, his breath hot against her face, contrasting with the cold of the tiles she could feel beneath the thin fabric of her bathrobe.

She cried out, once, twice, three times, wishing that she had super strength so that she could push him off. She tried anyway, succeeding in bringing her legs up enough so that she could kick him off. He landed on the other side of the bathroom with a painful thud.

He stared at her, the shock blatant in his eyes. She glared, pulling her bathrobe closed. "Ask me again why I could never love you," she said, her tone bitter and angry.

He stuttered, tried to say something, anything but couldn't. Picking himself up off the bathroom tiles, he skirted around her and ran as fast and as far as he could.

A half sob escaped her before she could clap a hand over her mouth. She tried to stand up but couldn't. She decided to remain on the floor. It appeared to be the only option.

***

"So, then I had this total epiphany: chocolate is the food of the gods," Peter was saying as he opened the door for Monica and then followed her inside. She hid smile at his gallantry.

She shook her head. "And you hadn't realised this before?." She smiled at him. "You really are as slow as people think you are. You better get to work on..." She trailed off as she followed his gaze to the large black coat lying across the stair rail. "...that."

They shared a quick glance and then both were running up the stairs. Monica saw the bathroom door ajar and rushed forwards. She saw Claire sitting, back against the bathtub, and fell to her knees beside her. She reached a hand out, brushing a strand of blonde hair out of her eyes. "Claire...?"

She frowned when Claire only stared vacantly into the distance. "Peter, I think we..."

The sound of the door slamming downstairs made her jump. She glanced up and realised Peter was gone. "Fuck it, Peter, always trying to be the hero." She sighed then glanced at Claire.

"Oh, Claire," she said in a small voice.

Claire finally seemed to realise someone was there. Her vacant gaze turned towards the sound of Monica's voice, her eyes filling with tears. She held up shaking hands. "Monica...?"

Instead of saying anything Monica simply wrapped her arms around Claire, rocking her gently as she cried.

***

The door slammed against the wall. Sylar heard it crack. He wondered if it was broken. He looked towards the sound and saw Peter there, looking angrier, fiercer, than he'd even seen him before. He couldn't make himself care.

"Go away, Peter," he said, sulkily. He just wanted to wallow.

"No," Peter said simply, raising his hand and crashing Sylar into the wall behind him with a telekinetic twist of his wrist. Sylar felt something snap inside him and growled, leaping through the air and crashing into him.

He pushed him into the floor, as if he could push him all the way through the building, then the earth and out the other side. He pulled a fist back then brought it back down, heard the satisfying crack as it connected with Peter's face. He grinned wildly and did it again.

The sight of Peter's wounds healing made him growl again, made him increase the strength and number of his punches.

Peter pushed upwards, throwing him off, his hands becoming clothed in red fireballs. He threw one at Sylar, scrunched against the wall, then the other. "You fucking bastard!" he screamed, walking towards him. "You...You...oh, fuck, Sylar...why did you do it?"

He fell to his knees beside him and watched as the burns healed one by one. He listened to Sylar's shallow breathing. It took him awhile to realise the other man was crying. "Why did you do it?" he repeated softly, wanting to understand.

"I..." Sylar brushed angrily at his tears. They were stupid, and solved nothing. "I don't know...I...I wanted to make her _feel_. She left me and she...didn't...even...care." He punched the floor without warning, felt his fist go through, then brought his hand up, gazing at the bloodied knuckles.

Peter wondered absently what the people who lived downstairs were thinking.

They watched as the splinters were pushed out and the wound healed. Sylar laughed bitterly. "And now I'll always have this," he shook his fist once at the empty air, "to remind me of her."

"You're an idiot."

Sylar laughed again, a hint of madness tingeing it. He slammed his head back against the wall. "Yes, an idiot. That's me." He turned his gaze towards Peter.

"Help me."

__________________________________________________________________________________

**Hehe, it's funny how I start off Sylar/Claire...and then suddenly slash appears! Ooh! It's my way of dealing with it, I suppose. **

**Review please. **


End file.
